


Timeline

by octopodian



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Trans Leonard Snart, gideon invented gay rights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 21:51:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15805272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopodian/pseuds/octopodian
Summary: Mostly canon episodes, with a few extra scenes added, rewritten from the perspective of Len being a trans guy.





	1. Childhood: Names

Leonard Snart wasn’t born with his name. Not that anyone could ever prove that anymore: he’d destroyed any evidence, and the Flash only helped. Sure, it had primarily been to get rid of his criminal record, but whoever said he couldn’t multitask? He’s a good thief for a reason.

Leo had been a nickname at the time: a bit of a stretch, but he liked it better than the name it stood for. His mom thought it was cute, while she was still alive, so his dad went along with it. When he was 8, that’s what everyone knew him by.

But that wasn’t really his name, and it wasn’t really when the name became his. No, he really earned that name when he was 14, when his dad had brought him along on a heist for his little hands, wide eyes, and sealed lips.

It was the day he’d gone to juive, the day Leonard met Mick, and the day he’d almost died.

-

He prided himself on being able to hold his own, but there was only so much you could do against 7 other people. Especially when one has a knife.

_ This is it, _ he thinks, struggling in vain against the three boys holding him down.  _ This is how it ends. _ A few more just stood by, watching. A tall boy with pale blond hair crouched in front of him with a shiv and a smirk. He tries to think of Lisa, to at least go out on a good note, and... nothing. No pain.

Wait, there  _ is _ something.

Someone is yelling.

He opens his eyes. Some guy, 16 or 17 by the looks of it, is slamming kids to the ground, and the entire group turning tail and running. The hands pinning him down dissolve, leaving him sprawled on the floor. 

_ Holy shit. _

The guy is lean, but built: a few small burn marks along his forearms. He stares longer than he should, and on any other day he'd berate himself for focusing on his physique, of all things, when he should be focusing or running but he’s still high with adrenaline and...

He gets lost in thought, spacing out until the guy holds his hand out to him. He takes it, being hoisted to his feet surprisingly fast. Something in his chest flutters. Jesus, Snart, focus.

“Who’re you?” The guy says in a surprisingly deep voice. 

He hesitates slightly before saying, “Leonard.”

“Mick.” He shrugs, letting go of his hand. No comments, no looks, nothing. Leonard tries to tone down his own gratitude.

“Thanks.” 

“Whatever, kid.”

“Hey!” Snart tries to ignore the way his voice cracks.

He snorts. “C’mon, Len. They won’t fuck with ya, not while I’m around.”

Len sure as fuck beat Leo. 

“Sure. Thanks.”

Mick never let anyone hurt him, after that. He always stood up for him. 

Since then, the name was his.


	2. White Knight

Sorry, Raymond, but this is for the sake of the mission.

“Sorry, is this man bothering you?” He says, taking her arm and walking away.

“Don't trouble yourself. I'm not a damsel in distress.”

He turns to face her. “Good, because I'm not a white knight.” That wasn’t the answer she was expecting: she looks intrigued. Good.

The opera house bell rings, and they both glance up to look at it. 

“Seems intermission is over.”

“You wouldn't want to miss Queen Nisia dancing naked with the nymphs.” Len makes a mental note to give Gideon a fruit basket. Or a USB drive, or whatever A.I. like to receive as gifts. 

“My favorite part of the ballet,” she marvels, impressed, “but I've seen it so many times. Perhaps you wouldn't mind walking me home instead.”

Ray looks like a wounded puppy, which alone makes this worth it.

 

“Are you sure you don't want your coat back? I can't believe how you're not freezing.” She says, amused.

“Oh, I love the cold!”

“And ballet.” She adds. Ah, so she’s still interested in that.

“So, what is it about the ballet that you love, Valentina?”

“The combination of grace and strength, pushing the body to its breaking point. It's a thing of beauty.” She makes eye contact again. All in all, about the answer he was expecting from someone like her.

She stops, finally, holding a finger up. “My apartment.” Her eyes flick down to the ground and trail up his body. He represses a flinch. “You know, this time of night, it's colder than a Siberian winter.”

“Sounds perfect.” It’s not a lie: the cold sounds much better than spending any longer with her.

“I'm sure we could heat it up.” It’s a testament to his skill that he doesn’t physically recoil. Even if he was attracted to girls, the moment she saw him undressed... Well, he hasn't survived this long to die  _ quite _ so soon.

“Sadly, I have business elsewhere this evening.” Also not a lie. He was planning on cleaning his cold gun again. Really, it was quite important.

She shrugs off his coat. “Well, if this is goodbye...” She leans forward, handing back his coat as an excuse to lean in and... Well. He reciprocates just enough so she doesn’t get suspicious, diverting his attention elsewhere. She gives him a final look, before taking her umbrella and sauntering away.

Once she’s gone, he lets out a relieved sigh, before smirking and going back to nonchalant. 

“You enjoy the show, Raymond?”

Ray waddles out from behind a statue. Someone needs to teach him the art of subtlety. “I think I've got frostbite in some not-so-fun places from waiting out here. Did she tell you what kind of weapon Savage is building?”

“It didn't come up.” He says, shrugging. “Such a romantic evening, I didn't want to spoil the mood.” 

Ray full-on pouts. “So, other a steamy goodnight kiss and a possible case of hypothermia, we've got nothing.” Snart resents the implication that he would ever be ‘steamy,’ but doesn’t bring it up.

“I wouldn't say that.” He flashes the card he was palming. “It's Valentina's security badge for a place called Luskavic Labs. Whatever weapon she's building for Savage, we'll find it there.”

“I guess I should just be happy you didn't swipe  _ her _ wallet.” Ray snorts.

Len represses a smile, keeping a straight face as he takes her wallet out of his pocket with his other hand.

The wallet didn’t have much in it, but the look on Ray’s face? 

Priceless.


	3. Progeny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rip was trying to kill an innocent kid, his ex-partner was locked up and plotting how to kill him, and Ray and Kendra were having some sort of marital dispute.  
> Len? He was sitting in the cargo bay floor, getting very good at bouncing a red rubber ball off of a crate.

Rip was trying to kill an innocent kid, his ex-partner was locked up and plotting how to kill him, and Ray and Kendra were having some sort of marital dispute.

Len? He was sitting in the cargo bay floor, getting very good at bouncing a red rubber ball off of a crate.

“So,” Sara says, putting down the blade she was sharpening. Len had forgotten she was there, but it was also just as possible that she had just walked in. _Assassins._  

“So?” Snart gives her a glare.

Sara, unsurprisingly, isn’t the slightest bit dissuaded. 

“I learned how to read people in the League of Assassins, and you’ve been brooding ever since Kronos.”

Len does not brood, damn it. He throws the ball again. Bounce, bounce, catch.

“...Is it because we almost died-?”

“That’s not it,” Len says before he can help himself.

“Then what?”

Len mulls over his words in his head for a long time. “Mick knew me as a kid. Since juvie.” He’s never been a fan of long, wordy speeches. Except as a dramatic tool when battling the flash, because monologuing is fun, and no one can convince him otherwise. 

Sara pauses for a moment. “Okay.”

“And now, he wants to kill me.” He doesn’t really want to think about it. The only people who knew him before he was stealth are Mick, Lisa, or dead. Lisa he could trust, dead men tell no tales, but Mick could ruin his life. Up until now, he knew that he wouldn’t: they were partners. They looked out for each other.

Until Len left him for dead. Any faith there had been smashed. 

Sara gives him a sympathetic look. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“You aren’t going to change anything.”

“There’s good in him. He can change, just like you.” Len grumbles, but she keeps talking. “When we almost died, you know who you were thinking about?” Len clenches his fist. They sit in silence before she says, “you care about him. I’m willing to bet it’s mutual.”

Len wishes anything about their relationship had ever been mutual. Now isn’t the time to be bitter over a childhood crush, over a pretty gripe, but as his next move becomes increasingly certain, he lets himself hold on to this one shred of anger. 

If he's only going to live a few more hours, he can feel whatever the hell he wants.

 

Sara leaves again, presumably to talk to Mick, like everyone else. It was like the time masters had turned him into a confessional.

Len goes back to bounce-bounce-catch-ing. Repetitive movement always helped him focus: usually it was cleaning his gun, or fidgeting with his ring, or rocking. His mind clicks away, counting seconds like a metronome. Once Sara comes back, his fate is firmly set.

He’d given Lisa a recording when he’d first left: he couldn’t risk dying without being able to say goodbye. Hopefully, it’s enough to give her closure.

He debates recording a message for Mick too, but snorts. Recording a touchy-feely video for his soon-to-be killer would be a touch too dramatic, even for him.

Mick had said it himself: the Time Masters barely had to ask. Snart -- not the Legends, but Snart, his partner, the person he thought he could trust -- had abandoned him, and he won’t stop until he gets payback.

 

He’s still mulling over his thoughts, trying to remember anything left on his bucket list, when Sara walks back in.

He sets his mental timer for 60 minutes.

“No luck finding our homicidal captain?”  
Sara sighs. “Gideon's still searching, but I have a feeling Rip's not gonna be found if he doesn't want to be.”

“So, what are you doing down here?” Len says, hoping the answer isn’t what he thinks.  
“Don't you think you at least owe him a conversation?” She says, not even trying to dance around the issue. Whatever Mick said had got to her. So much for hope. 

“We had our conversation while he was Kronos, and he made his feelings about me very clear.” He said that he hated him, and he was going to kill him and everyone he cared about. As emotional talks go, it wasn’t too bad.

“And what about  _ your _ feelings?”

“About you?” He says, figuring some compulsory heterosexuality never hurt anyone.

She smiles sympathetically. “About Mick.” 

“I don't have any feelings about Mick.” A blatant lie.

“Look, it didn't seem that way when we were dying in the engine room of hypothermia.”

“Look,” he says, throwing her line back at her, “if you want to ease your guilty conscience, that's your business, but he's still the same son of a bitch he was when you all wanted me to put him down.”

“I wasn't the one who mentioned marooning Rory. You did.” Fuck. “It's obviously still weighing on your conscience. So, stop being an ass, and go deal with it.”

Sara walks out again, presumably to actually support the team. Len tries to throw the ball again. Bounce, bounce... and it rolls out of his reach. 

Great.

T minus 55 minutes, he notes, not bothering to get up quite yet.

 

He debates getting some painkillers from Gideon or getting drunk, but decides against it.

T minus 30 minutes.

 

He stashes his cold gun in the armory of the ship. Rip had better give it to someone who deserves it, or he’s coming back and haunting him.

T minus 15 minutes.

 

T minus 5 minutes, he thinks, and walks into the brig.

He takes his time making his way to the door: every second now is another spent alive, and even now he isn’t sure if he’s ready to face him. He fidgets, briefly, feeling a flash of regret, before crossing his arms and finally facing his ex-partner. 

They stare at each other, unblinking.

“What do you want?” Mick growls. He doesn’t move, just glares steadily without blinking.

“People seem to think we should have a heart-to-heart.” He says, carefully avoiding any of  _ his _ feelings on the matter. 

“We don't  _ have _ hearts. Where does that leave us?”

“I've got a dozen reasons for killing you. You've got a dozen and one for killing me, so-”

“All the talk in the world is not gonna change a thing.” Mick interrupts.

“Exactly,” Len says patiently. “Here's my proposal: I open this cell. We let our fists do the talking.”

Mick stands up, finally, walking towards him. “When I kill you...?”  
“You take the jump ship, make your escape, and live out the rest of your life anywhere you like.”

He considers this for a moment. “And if you kill me... well, it's better than being locked up in this place, like some kind of circus freak.”

T minus 4 minutes.

“I take that as a yes.” Something, deep down inside him, hopes against all odds that-! Something dangerous gleams in Mick’s eyes, and the hope dries up like water in the desert. 

“Sound the bell.”   
  


Snart’s a survivor. He’s always known how to hold his own, especially in a fight. He’s had to.

But Mick is bigger, stronger, and more dedicated than he is, and his head spins from just the first punch.

Mick was the one saving him as a kid, not the other way around. Snart could never kill him, even if he wanted to. He's not so sure he does.

He gets two solid punches in before Mick gets the upper hand, knocking him to the ground in one blow.

On reflex, he gets on his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath as the world spins, but Mick flips him over and gets on top of him, fist pulled sharply back for the final few blows.

T minus 0 minutes.

_ Time’s up, Lenny. _

Mick... 

Does nothing.

He stares at Len, bloody, bruised, probably scarred in a few new spots, and he does nothing.

_ What. _

A moment later, he stops entirely, falling to the side next to him. 

_ No. _

He sits, staring at him bleeding on the floor. He stares back.

_This wasn’t the plan._  
“We had a deal, Mick. Kill me, and you walk.” He croaks, closing his eyes and wincing at the pounding in his head. “It's what you wanted, isn't it? To get off the team?” He knows the team had almost nothing to do with it. His head really hurts. The ceiling looks a lot closer than it should be.

“I don't know what I want anymore. Truth is, it doesn't matter.” 

“...What are you talking about?” His words slur slightly, and he can taste blood. Ew. 

“Whether I stay or leave, I'm dead.” He stares straight into Len’s eyes, who looks back, seeing someone he recognizes for the first time in weeks. He sees Mick. Not Kronos. Then, he processes what Mick said, and the flutter of joy leaves the way it came.

“We're all dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one im most proud of, tbh

**Author's Note:**

> this whole thing will be a little scattered but i wanna get it posted so it doesnt rot in my docs


End file.
